it is as it is. Goodbye the perfect image. Working at a slow grind and becoming more than the slowness. Allowing time for all this to flow. It is very bright and very slow and it goes on and on to the end. To begin it has to be allowed in its own time. The telephone rings without it being anybody I really know. It is slick and skilled and very punctual and probably very tiresome but it does relieve thought of one or other of the problems of life. Time that started that started. There is a credible smile that is hardly of Cornwall it is so empty of place. A face like crumpled stone. The decaying folds of limestone standing by the rock worn caves. Open eyes speak only of anger and the slow accumulation of trivial time. The wrinkling of the retina that can ultimately only klead to distorted vision. The cold space of dawning eyes turning endlessly from sight. The hidden behind invoices for breath favours condensation grey hopelessness. The continual beat of a mechanical heart holding together a body without life to live. Like magazines in racks on the side walls of a newsagents. The same glossy colours repeat themselves copy after copy. Something here is not right but you will never see it. Io go back. To go back now. Further and further going back into the spacesyou hide in hide from hide. I couldn't take you there if you weren't already travelling there. Look now. There you are. Look there you are. No surprise surprise. It is small and circular and the ends of it link together your eyes. So take you back. Take you back yourself. Take to yourself the solutions only time has removed. Once again as it always has been it is too much because you have immediately filled all the spaces. Perhaps by giving away something unexpected something more can be built. There is a button. A button can be pushed. A button fires the automatic missiles. How many angels can dance on a button? How many angels can you squash with a thumb. That'show strong it is. It still is. It still will be. Perhaps it is not important where it is given. It is the giving. Who is it that you can help by that. If you need to ask the question you will never accept the answer. The old tree sways in a strong wind. A young man woke up every morning in the new day and worked all day to change things and then went to bed. And one morning he saw that it was a new day and he woke up later to get lunch. And later the new day ended and he saw that. Today is a new day. It will change of itself. It all runs so far back I doubt if I could hold enough of the pieces if I tried. If I did not try I doubt I could affect the outcome. If you try you will fail. If you do not contend, the solution has no meaning. What will you tell me about change now? So you have built a new platform on top of the old spaces. You have started again from the old surfaces. I could never accept that. It would all have to be taken away for me. So if it works for you it is as it is. It does not solve any of my problems but it does reduce them to nothing again. That is the story of how we begin. Really that is what it is. If you have that base it can only ever be learnt and superimposed on the top. It can be there on the surface where it can be used. It can never flow from the inside because it is blocked in. It is blocked in by the new platform you hve built. That is how it is. That is what it will change into. Mind out of the way. I can only give you what you will have. Perhaps I can show it to you in a way you will see. Perhaps I cannot. There are answers. So there are questions. Time after time they elude each other.
The movement of a knee. The thing can be as small as that. There is so much to consider because it can be as small as the movement of a knee. And then.